


No One's Heroic

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Is this canon? Nobody knows, M/M, Nothing explicit, Post-Story, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts, after the events of LiS, sorta - Freeform, usual LiS things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 18:10:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12846696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A trip to New York to visit his old college roommate doesn't exactly turn out as Dipper expected...but in a good way.





	No One's Heroic

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Love is Stupid](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6014410) by [Kitastrophe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitastrophe/pseuds/Kitastrophe). 



> First time I'm posting anything in half a year? Lmao this was requested by thellamasarehere on Tumblr ~~months ago~~ and I SWEAR I'm done after this jdkdndndjx This takes place after another certain fic of mine, so read that before this, thanks
> 
> The lyrics used in this are from [this song.](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Kb24RrHIbFk) The title is also from the song. (Also, watch the video so you can cry like I did.)
> 
> Also warning for non-explicit sexual content (I skipped over it), suicide mention, drug abuse mention, alcoholism mention....the usual LiS stuff
> 
> BTW my writing has changed a lot, too

_I want you to be alive_

_You don’t gotta die today_

_You don’t gotta die_

_I want you to be alive_

_And let me tell you why_

 

“Come on, come on, move your freakin’ butt, man! We don’t have all day! Go, go, go!” Mabel stands at the doorway to Dipper’s room, yelling at him quite unhelpfully, hands curled into fists on either one of her hips. “I’ve see _turtles_ that can move faster than you!”

Dipper shoves a wrinkled, overused shirt in his duffel bag and tries to slam it shut despite it being beyond filled with clothes. To his frustration, rather than closing completely it pops back open in an almost comical way. He slams it shut again, this time harder, and locks it before it can start another struggle.

“I’m going as fast as I can, Mabel,” he says as he does all this, “and, frankly, I would go _much_ faster without you barking orders in my ear.”

“I’m only tryna be a supportive sister,” Mabel protests, but heeds his request and takes a step backwards. “After all, today is _important._ You’re gonna see your boyfriend in person for the first time in like, what, a year? To most people that would be considered a pretty huge deal, you know.”

Dipper blushes. “Wha—I’m not—We—He’s…,” Dipper starts, fumbles. Eventually he manages to regain his bearings. “We are not boyfriends. And we’re not making a big deal out of it. It’s just for a few days.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, man,” Mabel replies smugly, crossing her arms over her chest. She leans against the door, but pulls away after a minute. “I’ll leave you alone now, though, because you still have a _lot_ to get done.” Laughing, she ducks into the hall, leaving Dipper alone.

Able to breathe now, Dipper get to his feet and throws the bag he had finished packing a second ago onto his bed. He then continues his work more efficiently, walking over to his dresser. As he rips through his underwear drawer, he falls deep into his own frenzied thoughts.

Honestly, after the conclusion to his freshman year of college, at first he had expected to never hear from Bill again. They lived on opposite coasts, Bill had moved on… It felt very unlikely that Bill would even consider contacting him. He’d made his point.

It was sometime closer to the end of summer break when he had gotten an odd text from an unknown number, and in the instant when he was about to block said number was when a follow–up text came through, stating, _‘Hey, it’s Bill.’_ To say this had surprised him would be an understatement. He stared at his screen flabbergasted, nostalgic.

 _‘Prove this is you,’_ he replied. _‘Tell me something that only Bill would know.’_

The reply to this took a long, painful few minutes, Dipper drumming his fingers on his phone case in an antsy manner.

Then: _‘It was a really long note. That I left you, I mean. You think I should’ve made it a little shorter?’_

Needless to say, Dipper had assumed contact with his former roommate proceeding that interaction… to his intense and immediate regret.

Of course, he really _hadn’t_ wanted to talk to Bill after everything that had happened between them. And who _would_ want anything to do with the person that broke their heart, left a freaking _note_ to apologize for it, and never once said the L–word to them even though they were very obviously in L–word with that person? It was TV drama bad.

Dipper had found himself actually _keeping_ in contact, however the case, talking to Bill often. Quite often, at that.

He talked to Bill every day about things ranging from menial to urgent, from _How are you doing?_ to _I’m not feeling too good today and I need you to talk to me, please,_ at any chance he could find, including while in his classes when the school year returned and late at night, much to his new roommate’s annoyance.

He ended his sophomore year of college still hung up on his roommate from freshman year.

What exactly _was_ it that drew him so close to Bill, anyway? They were terrible for each other, as much as would have hated to admit it, and they always had been. Bill was caught up in his own things and Dipper…well, he’d never been able to handle Bill’s gradually deteriorating mental state. Besides, Bill needed time alone in order to heal.

Yet, versus how he had been back _then,_ Bill seemed perfectly fine. That had to mean something, right? There were those moments when they FaceTimed in which Dipper thought he saw tired lines resting below Bill’s eyes and a forced smile on his lips, yes, but it was only his imagination, it _had_ to be his imagination. His mind was simply jumping to crazy conclusions based on his past experiences.

Better to believe that.

Better.

Things were _better._

It was initially Bill who had suggested Dipper coming to visit him and Pyronica in New York City after he finished sophomore year. “Yeah, a chance for us to catch up ‘n shit, see how fat we’ve all grown. There’s also a whole buncha stuff to see.”

Honestly, it felt like a joke at first. There was no way for them to pay for one, let alone _two_ plane rides, plus the additional money it took to take care of Dipper while he was actually in New York, buying food for him to eat, etcetera. Then Pyronica herself had jumped on the idea and offered to chip in and help pay for Dipper’s plane rides.

Things had escalated from that point on. Dipper began to save money, and that combined with Bill and Pyronica’s cash plus a small, charitable donation from his parents turned out to be enough, making the dream a reality.

It’s due to these events that Dipper is dragging heavy, unwieldy bags, tossing them carelessly into the trunk of his parents’ car in present time. He grunts with the effort, irritated at the fact that his sister is standing some feet away watching instead of assisting him.

Mabel walks over as soon as the last bag is away, closes the trunk, and promptly squeezes Dipper, stealing the last bit of breath he has left from his heavy lifting. He reluctantly returns the embrace.

“Sorry I can’t go to the airport with you guys,” she whispers. “I have a package arriving today and if I miss the mailman I’m screwed. I’ll be there in spirit, I promise.”

Dipper shifts from foot to foot. “Thanks, Mabes,” he says, meaning it. The next part spills forth without him wanting it to, and he rambles, “I’m scared, Mabel. I don’t know how this is going to turn out. Bill isn’t the same as he was before. I’m not sure how to explain it, but he isn’t. How will I have to act around him? The same, or…?”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Mabel insists, offering him a reassuring smile. “Wasn’t he super F–ed up—” She takes in her brother’s glare and cuts off, quickly resuming, “Er, wasn’t he going through some stuff? His change could be because he’s, like, happy now.”

Dipper frowns. He wishes that were the case, but he isn’t sure if it’s true. There was still something about Bill whenever they talked, an important _something,_ a _something_ that meant _everything._ Both metaphorically and literally.

He returns her smile regardless. “Yeah,” he says, “maybe this could be a good thing.”

Mabel slugs him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit!”

The rest of their talk is a blur, a forgotten memory, and the next thing he remembers is that he is in the back seat of the car, his parents eying him through the rearview mirror as they try to hand him sage advice. He barely hears it.

A second later and he is on the plane, high above the ground. He stares out the window, at the clouds that don’t have the answers to his question. The woman sitting next to him turns her head slightly to speak to her child, who is in the seat behind her. _It’s going to be alright, you don’t have to worry. Just relax. We’ll be there soon. It’ll all be over soon._

 _Oh, God,_ Dipper thinks, feeling sick, _I sure hope it will._

His legs are shaky when he steps off the plane and is suddenly wandering aimlessly throughout the airport, looking, looking, looking. _Where’s the pink hair, the yellow hoodie that stands out from everything else? Where is that stupid grin and the freckles that are all over his face. Dear Lord, where are his eyes that are such a strange color that can stare right into the depths of my soul…_

“Hey, cutie!” a female voice calls, and Dipper swivels around in every possible direction, not understanding where it’s coming from. A hand falls upon his shoulder unexpectedly and he has to bite down a scream, _oh my God, oh my God._

Pyronica lifts her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she laughs. She hugs him, and the embrace doesn’t feel too different from Mabel’s embraces.

Dipper looks over her shoulder and sees _him,_ standing not too far off with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, glasses over his eyes, _him_ looking exactly the same as he had on the day he left.

Bill grins wide. “Hey, buddy. Watch any good porn lately?”

 

_It’s the very first breath_

_When your head’s been drowning underwater_

 

“Our place isn’t exactly the Ritz,” Pyronica says as she unlocks the door to her and Bill’s shared apartment, “but it’s home, and I love it nonetheless.”

“I’m sure your place is fine,” Dipper replies. He’s holding two of his bags in either hand, Bill holding his third and final one. He hasn’t packed too much, considering he’s only going to be here for five days.

Bill snorts. _“Fine_ is way too flattering, if you ask me.”

Pyronica opens the door for them, ushering them inside. “Ah, nobody cares what you think.”

“You, miss, are incorrect. _I_ care.”

Dipper, ignoring their familiar back–and–forth, walks into the apartment, putting his bags on the floor to rest his tired arms. Currently he is standing in the living space, the kitchen and the dining room open directly with it. To the far right is a hall that he’s certain leads to the bedrooms and bathroom.

“I'm gonna forewarn you now,” Pyronica says, closing the door after Bill enters, “it’s only two bedrooms and one bath, so you're gonna have to sleep in Bill’s room, if that's okay. You can also crash on the couch if you’d like.”

“Crash on the _couch?_ Jeez, Py, you make it sound like him sharing a room with me would be the equivalent of being condemned to death. He’s done it before.” Bill pouts. “I’m not _that_ bad.”

Pyronica waves a hand dismissively. Taking the hint, Bill begins to gather the rest of Dipper’s bags, straining to gather all three properly in his grasp. “I'll go put these away. Be right back, bitches.”

Once Bill disappears down the hall and is out of sight, Pyronica sets her sights on Dipper, asking abruptly, “How’s life been treating you?”

“Oh, uh, alright. Can't complain.” Dipper crosses his arms, rubbing his elbows uncertainly. “College has been good. I'm starting junior year at the end of August…” His voice fades, and he finds he isn't sure what he should say next. “How has Bill been doing?” And, realizing how selfish that sounds, corrects, “Uh, I–I mean, how are _you?”_

Pyronica shakes her head. In irritation or amusement, Dipper can't tell. “I’m doing great, thank you for asking.” The implications in her tone cause Dipper’s veins to turn cold with guilt. “As for _William,_ I’m pretty sure he would rather tell you that himself.” Her gaze shifts, travels to a spot behind his head and settles there.

Dipper turns and sees Bill standing at the end of the hall, watching them. He swallows, embarrassed, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans, not knowing how to strike up a conversation in this moment, how to ask Bill if he’s been doing alright.

Bill grins in the way he always does, pulling out his phone and waving it about casually. “You guys want me to call for pizza?”

“That sounds like a plan, but let me do it,” Pyronica says. “Why don't you go set up the air mattress for Dipper and you can show him around? It’d give you two a few minutes to talk about…things.” Without waiting for a response, she retreats into the kitchen, her own phone pressed to her ear.

“Please don't get taco pizza like you did the other day!” Bill calls after her, hands cupped around his mouth in a makeshift megaphone. “You know I hate that shit!”

Then there is silence.

Dipper licks his lips. He wills his eyes not to meet Bill’s directly. “I’m really glad to see you,” he says at last, his voice a whisper. “It’s been a while, hasn't it?”

“Yes,” Bill agrees, “it has been a while.” He pockets his phone, brows furrowed. Dipper is tempted to reach over and trace the lines there, but resists. Bill opens his mouth as if he might add something onto his previous statement, but closes it just as fast. He resumes his cocky persona, as is the norm.

“You know, some might say this is the part when we start making out.” Dipper stares at him, puzzled. “What, you’ve never seen that in the movies? Lost lovers reunited and all that garbage.” Finally, at Dipper’s newer expression, Bill laughs. “Nah, I’m pulling your leg. Lemme show you around.”

Dipper follows him into the deep abyss that is the hall, tilting his head towards each respective room as Bill gestures to them in order. “The first one on the right here is Py’s room, but you probably shouldn't go inside unless, like, the building is burning. Otherwise you're setting yourself up for a slow, painful death. That over there is supposed to be a closet for coats, I think, but I just throw random crap in there. On the left here is the bathroom—”

 _Oh, God, yes, I know exactly what you're talking about,_ Dipper thinks. _That's the bathroom, where people piss and shit and where you tried to kill yourself that one time._

He shudders. _Do you remember that, Bill? You almost died but I came at the last minute and pulled you out of the water, then you had a panic attack because you remembered when your dad tried to drown you as a kid, and I had to calm you down._

 _I remember it so clearly and sometimes I still have nightmare about it, you know that? There are those moments when it’s on my mind and it won't_ go away, _no matter how much how I want it to. I can't handle it here, oh my G—_

Fingers snap in his face, snapping him out of his mental breakdown. He blinks. Bill says, “Earth to Pine Tree? Is anyone home? Jeez, kid, you're _way_ too easily distracted.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dipper comments, and, under his breath, “That’s it.”

“Anyway,” Bill presses on, either having not heard Dipper or choosing to ignore him altogether, “this is my room.”

He pushes open the door at the very end of the hall, revealing a small box–shaped room. The walls are painted a pale green—Bill’s least favorite color, Dipper remembers, so it was probably this way when he and Pyronica moved in—with a bed pushed up against the wall in one corner, the TV placed across from it. Not surprisingly, there’s an X–Box One hooked up to it.

The TV is rested on a dresser that has dove drawers, likely where Bill keeps his clothes, as well as small in–wall closet next to that. Claustrophobia suffocates Dipper the second he steps in, but he swallows it enough to say, “It’s nice here.”

“Really? I hate it.”

Dipper almost laughs at that, but doesn't on account of the fact he’s alone with someone he used to be in love with. _But that's okay. That's in the past. We’re just friends now, so…yeah. Fresh starts all around, haha._ He feels as if he should try to say something to Bill, but his throat closes up, not allowing him the satisfaction.

“Yeah, I'm not sure what the hell Py was talking about when she said I should put the air mattress out,” Bill grumbles, rubbing his face. He walks over to his closet and pulls out a large box containing the aforementioned item. Starting to open it, he adds, “I’m not sure if there’s enough room.”

Dipper looks at the floor, at the space they have to work with between Bill’s bed and the opposite wall from it. Bill’s right. They won't have enough room. If anything, the air mattress will have to be moved slightly under Bill’s bed in order for it to work out.

“We’ll just have to make it work,” he says weakly.

“Sure do.”

Dipper allows Bill silence for the next few moments, saying nothing as Bill opens the box, pulls the air mattress out and laying it on the ground. He moves it around a bit to see how he can make it fit, and, sure enough, it does wind up under his bed. “Sorry, it’s just, like, an inch or so. I hope you don't mind.”

“I don't.”

“Perfect, then.”

Now Dipper does actually chuckle a little. Their banter doesn't seem too far off from how their dynamic had been when they were frenemies. _That seems like such a long time ago,_ he muses, _even though it was only a year ago. God, time goes by way too fast._

As the air fills the mattress, Bill lifts his head enough to look at Dipper. “You can sit down if you want,” he says, gesturing to his bed.

Dipper figures there’s no point in not taking the opportunity and sits, leaning forward and resting his face in his hands, his elbows atop his knees.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, not meaning it.

“Sorry? For what?”

Dipper bites his lip. “I really have no idea how I'm supposed to talk to you at this point, or what even we should be talking about,” he admits. “I mean…I dunno. What do you think? How have you been?” He pauses. “Are you going to therapy or anything?”

“Well,” Bill replies, “I _did_ have counseling for a few months, but I quit when I realized it wasn't helping with anything.”

“Oh.” Dipper has no idea what counseling is like, as he has never gone to it. “What’s counseling like?” he asks idiotically.

“Sitting in a room for forty–five minutes talking to someone about how your week was, how you're feeling today, blah blah blah.” Bill sticks out his tongue distastefully. “It wasn't for me. I don't know if it’s obvious by now, but I'm not exactly good at sharing things.”

“Yeah, I got that.” _Nine whole months with a person can tell you a lot about their mental state, I guess._ Jumping topics, Dipper clears his throat. “What do you think of New York? Is it nice here?”

“I mean, yeah, they have bars,” Bill jokes. Dipper’s blood runs cold—and, noticing this, Bill quickly corrects, “No, no, I’m kidding. I don't even really drink anymore. It’s apple juice and lemonade for me these days. A six week program will do that for you.”

Dipper drums his fingers against his cheek. “If I had a dollar for every time you came in our room in the middle of the night totally wasted, I’d have…quite a few dollars.” He dodges the possible exaggeration, considering Bill’s feelings. The norm.

They’re quiet for a while. Then Dipper says, “You know, it’s weird. I figured you’d try to do the whole act where you act like a huge jerk, I reply sarcastically, and it kinda goes back and forth. Isn't that how it’s supposed to be?” He shakes his head. “What I mean is, why are you being so nice to me?”

“I figured I kinda owed it to you.” Bill’s gaze meets Dipper’s, and his expression shows he’s sincere. “It was shitty, leaving and not saying anything to you. Other than what was in the note, that is.” He laughs, the sound cold. “I wrote that the night before. I had it all planned out. Stupid, right?”

 _Yes, very stupid._ And, out loud: “Well, whatever. At least you’re okay now. I’m glad you are.” Although Dipper doesn't entirely forgive Bill for his previous action, he can do this much. He can appreciate that Bill is in a better state than he was a year ago.

“So am I,” Bill mutters, lowering his head.

Hollow words. Dipper can tell.

Why are they hollow words?

 

_And it’s the lightness in the air_

_When you're there_

_Chest–to–chest with a lover_

 

That night Dipper has trouble sleeping. He tosses and turns in the air mattress, not able to find that Perfect Position that everyone strives for, his head an empty cloud. None of his thoughts are coherent. They come and go without giving him the chance to fully process them.

Whilst he succumbs to possible insanity Bill sleeps soundly in the bed above him, his form rising and falling with each breath. Dipper wishes he were him, being comfortable enough in this apartment to consider it home.

That’s it. He’s homesick. He wants to be back with Mabel and his parents—and, yes, he’d aware he’s been away from home enough times due to college to be used to be, but there’s _something_ about the atmosphere here that makes him want to flee, run away as fast as his legs can carry him.

Or _someone._

Bill shifts and he freezes, throwing an arm over his eyes, pretending he’s asleep. _No, Bill can't know he’s the reason I can't breathe, I can't think, I can't—_

Bill sits up. Then his feet hit the floor, and he exits the room, closing the door. Dipper can dimly hear the sound of a toilet flushing a few minutes after that. _Oh, okay, he’s just going to the bathroom._

 _No, no,_ another part of him argues, _not the bathroom! Don't let him go in the bathroom by himself, you idiot! Do you remember when he tried to commit suicide in the bathroom that one time? What kind of friend are you, allowing it to happen again?_

 _It’s fine,_ he reasons. _He wouldn't try. Pyronica’s here. He wouldn’t_ dare.

_Are you sure?_

That’s it. He numbly gets to his feet, none of his actions his own, limbs moving robotically. He walks down the hall to the bathroom and, in an act of bravery, knocks on the door. He becomes distracted by the way the light from inside shines through the space between the bottom of the door and floor.

“Hello?” Bill asks, almost making him jump.

“Uh…I gotta pee,” Dipper lies.

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure most people do. Hold on a second, I’m taking a shit.”

“Oh, alright,” Dipper mutters. _A little TMI there, buddy._ Though he has to admit, his bladder _does_ ache, but for a completely different reason than Bill thinks. He begins to tap his foot impatiently on the ground, not knowing exactly what he's waiting for but not succumbing to his logical side nonetheless.

He’s so lost in his own thoughts that when the bathroom door opens and Bill steps out, he visibly jumps, a shudder shooting up his spine. Bill’s brows rise and he laughs nervously in response. “Sorry, I was just, uh…Great. I’ll go, uhm…”

“Go pee?” Bill suggests sarcastically. They’re standing closer than Dipper is admittedly comfortable with, and he has to tilt his head up a certain angle in order to meet Bill’s gaze, which glitters in the dark.

“That’s right, I have to pee,” Dipper recalls. Stupidly, he says it aloud. He glances towards the bathroom, the light still on inside. “I–I mean I’m gonna go do that. Now. ‘Cause, you know, when you gotta pee you pee—”

“Can you please cut the crap?” Bill demands, rolling his eyes. The playful demeanor he had a moment ago is gone, replaced by irritation. “You can stop the act, really, I’m not an idiot.” Dipper pales. “Don't look at me like that. The _real_ reason you came over was to see if I was alive in there, wasn't it?”

Dipper’s words are trapped, him finding that he can't reply without spitting another lie. Bill searches his face, examining him for any sign of weakness. “Whatever. Honestly, I'm used to it with Py. I know what unnecessary concern looks like.”

“Ugh, Bill,” Dipper groans, now annoyed as well, “I didn't mean anything by it, I was—” But it’s too late because Bill is pushing past him dramatically and stomping down the hall. “Oh, come _on!”_ he calls after him. “You're acting like a child!” Noticing the volume of his voice, he drops it a few notches. He switches off the bathroom light and chases after Bill, grasping his arm as to stop him.

“Leave me alone.”

“You haven't changed at _all,”_ Dipper hisses, tightening his grip, well aware that Bill outnumbers him in strength and can pull away at any given instant.

Bill glares at him. _“Me?_ What about _you?_ An entire year later and you still feel the need to watch over me! Don't you think I have enough of that shit going on with Py in my life?”

“Ah, jeez, I sure do _wonder_ why people worry about you all the time!” Dipper snaps, throwing his hands in the air. “Do you not remember everything that you’ve done to yourself or was that just a crazy dream?”

“That’s the reason why I went to rehab for six weeks, you fucking dumbass!” Bill rubs his face. “I did everything I could do. I’m _fixed.”_

Dipper breathes heavily. “If you really are fixed,” he says slowly, “then why are you being so damn defensive about this? What’s wrong?”

Bill snorts. Dipper reaches out for him hesitantly, to console him, do _something,_ but Bill ducks away. “Come on, I know something’s wrong. Can you stop fighting me and tell me what it is? I won't tell Py, I promise.”

“You see, _that’s_ what is wrong,” Bill says. “You talking down to me, treating me like I'm a child. How the fuck am I supposed to react to that?”

“The only reason I talk to you that way is because you do act like a child.” Dipper sighs. “Start acting your age and maybe then I'll actually have a civilized conversation with you. Trust me, it isn't hard.”

Bill slips into his room and, before Dipper can follow him in, slams the door hard. A lock clicks. “Leave. Me. Alone. Go sleep on the couch!”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong!”

The silence that invades the hall after this sentence unnerves Dipper if at least slightly. His blood is cold beneath his skin. He holds his breath, fearing that a single sound other than Bill speaking would surely break him.

A lifetime passes. The door opens a crack, letting Dipper know to come in but to close the door after himself. He does, relocking it for extra measure.

Bill is standing at the opposite end of the room, one hand on the wall as if to balance him. He lifts his eyes carefully. Their gazes catch, lock.

“Tell me what's wrong,” Dipper tells him, no venom in his words. “Bottling it up is only gonna make it worse.”

Bill tugs at his shirt nervously. “I’m supposed to act like everything’s fine,” he whispers, “but everything’s _not_ fine. I don't understand what exactly it is that's bothering me, but I know that it’s there.” He laughs bitterly. “I'm pretty sure happy people don't feel this empty inside.”

“No one said you had to be completely okay all at once,” Dipper says. “What you've been through is horrible. Besides, no one’s _completely_ happy. Life has highs and lows, dude. But what I think you should do is put let pressure on yourself. That's gonna make it worse for you in the long run.”

Bill stares at the floor. Dipper takes a step forward, wanting to comfort him somehow though isn't sure Bill wants it right now. “Do you, like…need a hug?” He holds out his arms uncertainly.

Without saying anything Bill crosses the room and embraces him, catching him off guard. _I didn't expect him to actually_ accept _my offer._ Nonetheless, Dipper buries his face in Bill’s shoulder and inhales his scent, returning the hug.

“I missed you,” Bill whispers.

Dipper blushes. “I missed you too.”

They stay this way for a long while, holding each other tightly. Dipper’s heart thunders in his chest and he almost fears that Bill can hear it, too, before he reminds himself that Bill must be feeling the same way. _Oh, God, how did I survive this last year without him? It’s like I've known him my whole life and he’s a jerk but I can’t help—_

“Wanna know what would make me feel a lot better?”

“What?” Dipper asks, pulling away. He already knows where this is going.

Warm air ghosts over his face. “Kiss me.”

Surprisingly, Dipper does. He cups Bill’s cheeks in both his hands and leans in, their lips barely brushing at first. Then Bill closes the remaining distance and Dipper’s entire body sings, _living_ in this moment. _Needing_ this.

Bill squeezes his waist. He utters a small gasp.

Everything becomes a hazy blur, and in the next instant he is on Bill’s bed, straddling him. A hand slides up his shirt. He slaps it away.

Bill smirks. “How far are we planning to go here, exactly?”

Dipper considers it. What would that mean for him, trusting Bill? What would tonight mean after his visit is over and he has to return to California? Would he ever see Bill again after the week is over?

“Are you still a virgin?”

“I don't want to be just another person you have sex with,” Dipper tells him. His lips brush Bill’s forehead as he speaks. “I want this to be special if we’re going to do this at all.”

Bill’s expression shifts. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

That’s exactly what Dipper needs to hear. He kisses Bill again, reassured by the fact that, whatever the case, at least it isn't for naught.

An hour later—or what might be only about twenty minutes—Bill collapses and rolls onto his back.

“Wow,” he says.

Dipper shakes his head. “William, you are _such_ a romantic.”

“There are no need for big words when a small one will suffice.”

Laughing, Dipper rests his head on Bill’s chest. They stay this way in blissful silence for a few moments, and Dipper thinks about whether or not regrets the last half hour. He doesn't.

“I used to drink a lot.”

“I’m aware.”

“You had to help me out…on several occasions. You saw me when I was high on heroin.”

“Yes, I did.” Dipper closes his eyes, exhales deeply through his nose. As one would assume, these were not nice memories to recollect. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

Bill kisses his hair. “Anything.”

“Was there a reason why you chose heroin specifically? I mean, was there something about the high, or…?”

“It was because of how it kills you,” Bill says after some hesitation. “You die in your sleep. At the time it seemed like the perfect way to go, especially considering I didn't have access to a gun and prescription opioids elicit a painful death, so…” He shrugs, as if that explanation is perfectly reasonable. Dipper doesn't have the heart to argue at the moment, however. “Do you still have the necklace I gave you? I wouldn't be surprised if you sold it.”

“I have it in my bag,” Dipper replies. He flinches, feeling guilty for not wearing it when he arrived. “I’m sorry. Should I be wearing it?”

“No, it’s fine. I was asking a stupid question.”

Dipper smiles, snuggles closer. Bill is receptive, wrapping an arm around him in return. “I hope you didn't invite me here just to get in my pants.”

“Of course not.” Bill grins. “Probably.”

Dipper pushes at his shoulder. “You're such a jerk.”

“Eh, I try my best,” he jokes. “Oh, and by the way, Py’s taking us out for breakfast in the morning—eh, well, technically, in a few hours. She told me not to tell you so you’d better act surprised, got it?”

“Sure. How’s this?” Dipper pulls a ridiculous expression.

“That’ll have to do.”

They fall into easy conversation after that, Bill asking Dipper about sophomore year and Dipper answering as blatantly as possible. This in turn leads to Bill explaining his current job as a web designer and that he’s also taking a few art classes for the fun of it.

Dipper isn't sure when he falls asleep, but it doesn't last long enough—he is soon being woken by a loud knocking sound, to which his responds by groaning and rolling over onto his other side, away from Bill.

“Would you _stop_ that?” he grumbles sleepily.

“Isn’t m’,” Bill slurs, half asleep.

Something clicks in Dipper’s mind then, causing him to sit up abruptly. He nudges Bill, who is lying down. “Come on, put your clothes on. Py’s at the door.”

“Clothes,” Bill echoes sleepily. “Py…at the door…”

Dipper waits. _Three. Two. One…_

Bill rises. “Shit!” he says, and glares at Dipper. “What’re you sitting there for? Get your clothes on!”

Dipper rolls his eyes yet complies nonetheless, pulling on his shorts as Bill yells a “We’re coming!” towards the door whilst wrestling with his own clothes. They work quickly, occasionally glancing each other.

Bill opens the door slightly a minute later, leaving only enough space for him to stick his head out. “Hello, dearest.”

“Yeah, you're full of crap,” Pyronica says. “What the hell took you guys so long? Where’s Dipper? I wanna talk to him.”

Bill looks back at Dipper, who is finally managing to tug on his shirt, finished dressing. “Yeah, sure, he’s right here.” Stepping away from the door, he gestures to Dipper to go ahead.

Dipper walks to the door, leaving it open just a crack as Bill had. “How’s it going?”

“Okay,” Pyronica says excitedly. She presses her hands together. “I'm planning on taking you guys out for breakfast and it’s gonna be super great so start getting ready.”

Dipper remembers what Bill said about acting surprised. “Oh, seriously? Thanks!”

Pyronica beams. “No problem!” She turns to head down the hall, but stops after a few steps. Without looking back at Dipper, she adds loudly, “Also, I’ll have you know that it reeks of sex in there.”

Dipper freezes. A small sound escapes Bill from inside the room, letting him know he is just as shocked by that statement.

Whatever the case, Bill regains his cool swiftly, unlike Dipper, and manages a small chuckle. “I’d say that this has been a productive morning, don't you agree?”

 

_It’s holding on, though the road’s long_

_And seeing light in the darkest things_

_And when you stare at your reflection_

_Finally knowing who it is_

_I know that you’ll thank God you did_

 

One the night before Dipper is supposed to return to California, he enters Bill’s room after a show to find him sitting on the ground assuming the feeble position—head in his knees, curled up into a tight ball.

Dipper folds his towel over the door and opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, but closes it upon considering how Bill would react. “Uh, do you wanna be left alone?” he inquires instead.

“No,” Bill grumbles. Dipper walks over and sits on the ground next to him.

“Then would you mind telling me what's wrong?”

Bill lifts his head and sighs. “Wouldn't it be so much easier if you didn't leave?”

“What?”

“I mean, you don't _have_ to go back to Cali,” Bill says desperately. Without warning, he reaches out and takes Dipper’s hands in his own, staring him straight in the eye. Dipper barely managed to sustain a gulp. “You could…you could stay here. It would save you the money for another plane ride, and me and Py could use that money to buy you new clothes instead. A–and you could, like, find a job here, it would be nice. My room is free, so you can sleep in he—”

Dipper pushes him away. “Calm down, I'm gonna be here tonight, and you’re going to see me tomorrow. Besides, you're being stupid. What about college? It isn't that easy to find one, you know, and what about my family? I can't _leave_ them.”

“You don't get it,” Bill presses.

“I really don't.”

“This last year has been draining,” Bill continues, ignoring his comment, “and I don't think I've felt this… _right_ since the last time I saw you. It’s like nothing else exists. Dipper, I need you here.”

Dipper shakes his head. “Keep thinking that way and it might actually be true,” he points out. “You don't need me, Bill. You’ve been doing fine on your own. The only reason you've been able to progress this much is because of what you've been doing in order to improve, after all.”

“But the reason I've been _wanting_ to improve is because of _you,”_ Bill replies. He reaches for Dipper again, who tries to move away in response. Not having it, Bill laces his fingers in Dipper’s pants pockets, vying for contact. “The reason I want to be alive is so I can be with _you,_ don't you understand? Without you, I’d…I’d…”

“You're being dramatic.”

“Maybe. But I'm being honest, too.”

Dipper’s heart aches for Bill. He can't possibly imagine how hard it must have been for him, deciding to be fixed when, at the time, the alcohol and heroin were the two things he had to make the pain go away. What would that feel like, having to give up what you loved the most? Would that even be possible?

 _Addiction._ That’s what Bill’s life had boiled down to. When he’d started it, he knew it was bad for him—but he knew it would help him feel better. Even if the high was just temporary, it gave him a break from all the stress and heartbreak he had endured up to date.

But the addiction was as horrible as it was wonderful. When the high wore off…that was it. Bill would be left to rot in a pit of despair, a sadness so deep that it would consume him to the point of no return.

All he would be able to think about was how sad he was, he would give his own _life_ to not be this sad anymore. And that was when he would do it again, whether it be by injecting a needle in his arm or doing excessive amounts of shots, _anything._ Death was a what–if. If it happened, it didn't matter. At least he wouldn't be sad if he was dead.

 _They say you can't kick the habit until you’ve hit rock bottom._ How would Bill have known when he was there? Would he have felt it when the high stopped being helpful, when the intoxication didn't last as long? Would he have known it when he realized that his coping methods were unhealthy and that they were making the people that surrounded him upset?

Would he have recognized it when he finally looked back and saw, in fact, that those things that he thought were helping him were actually _hurting_ him?

_No matter how badly something is hurting us, sometimes what hurts more is letting it go. Kicking the habit has to be the most painful choice a person can make._

“The reason I got so mad,” Bill is saying, brining Dipper to attention, “when you were checking on me in the bathroom the other night is because, for the first few months, Py used to do that kinda shit all the time. She still does it. I know she does it because she cares but…it doesn't help. It makes me feel worse. It makes me feel like I can't be trusted, and I…I want to move on. I want her to trust me.”

“You should tell her that.”

Bill eyes flutter shut. Tear lines stain his cheeks. “I don't know how.” Then: “Can you do it for me?”

“No,” Dipper says firmly. “She’ll listen if you do it. It won't be the same if it’s me.”

“You don't know that.”

“I do.”

Maybe there was a reason Dipper had fallen in love with Bill.

Bill wasn't just broken goods. He was a person, and he needed someone to lean on, even though he didn't want to admit it at the time. It just so happened that Dipper was the person who was there for him when he needed it, wanted to help him in spite of the pain that came with the effort of doing so.

“I don't mean to treat you like a child,” Dipper admits. Bill opens his eyes at this. “The reason I'm so protective…if you did something to yourself, if something happened, I don't know what I would do. I think I would feel partly responsible for it.”

“I’m sorry. For everything.”

Dipper hugs him. “I forgive you.” And he means it, because now he understands how hard it must have been for Bill, how hard it was when he left without saying goodbye. He did it because it would have been to hard to do it in person.

“I love you,” Bill whispers.

A huge weight in Dipper’s chest is lifted. For the first time in over a year, he can breathe evenly again. His heart resumes its normal pace, his organs function normally. The cold fist closed around his heart releases, allowing blood to flow. Allowing the past to be as it should be—in the past.

“I love you, too.”

Dipper pulls away first, albeit reluctantly. His hands rest on Bill’s shoulder. “I’m not sure we’re meant to be together, but I wanna try anyway. But I want to start over. Let’s just be friends for now, alright? I’ll go back to California, we’ll stay in contact…we’ll see what happens after that. Either way, you have to promise to talk to Py. It would make life a whole lot better for the both of you.”

“Start over,” Bill echoes. “Yeah, that works for me.” He holds out his hand. “Hi, I’m Bill.”

Smiling, Dipper takes his hand, shaking it. “Dipper.”

They hug again. Bill says, “You had better text me every single day.”

“I will. Remember to talk to Py.”

“Wait, hold on a minute,” Bill grumbles, this time pulling out of the hug. “Why are we talking like you’re gonna leave right now? We still have a whole night and somma tomorrow, right?”

“True,” Dipper agrees. “But no sex. I’ve had enough of that for one lifetime.”

Bill shrugs. “Fair enough.” He stand and helps Dipper up, as well. “Are cuddles to much to ask for?”

“Of course not.”

“I really don't know how you managed without me,” Bill jokes once he and Dipper are snuggled up, grinning.

Dipper looks up at him, there noses an inch apart, grinning in return. “Yeah, what about you, wise guy?”

“You see, in those moments when I felt down, all I had to do to feel better is think of you. Whenever I did, I would get this goofy smile on my face. Like this” —here he demonstrates—“you see?”

Dipper laughs. “I hope you're not messing with me on that one, ‘cause that made my entire week.”

Bill passes out less than a half an hour later. Dipper watches his face as he rests, how his features seem to be at peace—and it might only be Dipper’s imagination, but he didn't quite this peaceful sleeping a few nights ago.

 _I hope he finds something else that makes him feel alive,_ Dipper thinks. _But, in the meantime, I don't think I mind if it’s me._

He falls asleep.

 

_I know where you been, where you at, where you goin'_

_I know you're the reason I believe in life_

_What's the day without a little night?_

_I'm just tryna shed a little light_

**Author's Note:**

> Please, no more after this, okay? :)
> 
> If you liked this, comments/kudos would be greatly appreciated. Have a nice day
> 
> P.S. I'll edit this later in the week, so please ignore my dumb mistakes.!!!


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